


a shadow of the past

by Anonymous



Series: a feeling's not a thing you own [19]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Depression, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:33:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22778755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Patton is dead. Roman is dead.Thomas is-
Relationships: Deceit Sanders & Thomas Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders & Thomas Sanders
Series: a feeling's not a thing you own [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1453462
Comments: 14
Kudos: 34
Collections: anonymous





	a shadow of the past

**Author's Note:**

> far less content warnings than usual!!! i wanted to be all like "here's some eating disorder venting!!!" but No my brain was like "let's do this!!!" and here. have this. it's 11pm and i'm an old man of twenty-one
> 
> honestly, i think the only warnings are grief and discussions of past suicidal thoughts?

“How do you feel?” asks Dr. Faber, just as he does every time that Thomas settles down for a therapy appointment.

As always, it’s in the psychiatric ward of the hospital, but it doesn’t really _feel_ like a hospital. Sure, the chairs in the waiting room are coated with that wipe-down plastic kind of fabric, but Dr. Faber’s office is just a room. It’s not cosy, but it’s not unwelcoming. The seats are a choice of two armchairs and one sofa, cheap but not wipe-down plastic cheap, in a completely unmemorable shade of pale blandness.

“I’m angry, I think,” Thomas answers, staring at his interlocked hands, and how his forearms rest balanced on his knees. “Well, I know that I’m not _actually_ angry. It’s grief, I think. I mean, I know that it’s grief, but it’s nicer to sort of pretend that it’s something else, because grieving for a part of myself is pretty stupid…” He inhales, then shakes his head. “Actually, no, it’s not. I’m grieving a part of myself that reminded me of who I used to be, even though the person I used to be isn’t someone I can go back to being, and losing Roman is kind of the ultimate reminder that I’m never going to be the same. I can get back to being a version of myself that I’m happy with, and that version might be similar to how I used to be. I’m not going to have Patton or Roman as parts of my personality, though, even if Hope grows to fit their old roles.”

Dr. Faber nods, patiently, just as he does every time that Thomas talks and brings up several difficult feelings within the first two minutes of therapy.

He says, “Just so we’re clear, you aren’t angry, but you’re using anger to mask another emotion, so that you don’t have to face that feeling, right?”

Thomas hums. His head bobs up and down in an approximation of a nod without looking up.

“Can you tell me what that emotion is?” asks Dr. Faber.

With a shrug, Thomas slumps back onto the sofa. “I have no idea. I’ve spent so long having no emotions, and then only having sad emotions, and then trying to rebuild all of my feelings that I just… I can’t identify it.”

“Well, I’m pissed.”

That voice used to be far reedier, and it can still build into a screech when he gets too excited, but it’s recently been brought down a few notes. When the Duke talks normally, he sounds more sonorous; more open. More like Roman.

He speaks through lips that he’s bitten red and raw, which have scabbed in some places from the force and repetition. Sometimes, the lips are pulled back, baring his teeth and the sliver of tongue bitten between them.

“My brother’s fucking _dead_ ,” Remus continues. “Say, Doc, have you ever been fused to your twin? Have you ever been unable to tell where one mind ends and the other mind begins?”

“I can’t say that I have,” says Dr. Faber.

That statement mostly goes ignored, as Remus’s voice rises in volume. “Have you ever spent ages in the same body, making compromise after compromise so that you can both cope with it? Have you ever finally figured out that you love him, because he’s your brother, and because you can take care of each other?”

Thomas watches Remus pull at his hair, and at the grey streak that shimmers with a dreamlike iridescence. As he continues asking questions, louder and louder, his face is scrunched up, though, whether it’s with pain or fury, Thomas can’t tell.

“Have you ever woken up to his head decaying on the pillow next to you? Have you ever tried to put him back, and have him crumble to dust in your hands? I tried to get him back! Maybe he’s like a flower, you know, and their little heads are always falling off and growing back, so it’s not weird, right? But he won’t come back! I can feel that he’s not there anymore!”

And then, Remus’s voice grows quiet.

“I don’t know who I am, anymore. Ethan said, back before he was Ethan, that I was kind of like the Side with the funny thoughts and all the dark, gruesome stuff. Like, the cesspool. I’m where all the crap thoughts go, and I built up the fear that came from thinking those thoughts and bringing them to the forefront. And now, those things, they all scare the _shit_ out of me, a bit. Like Teenagers! I used to be _that_ , but now I’m _this_.” Remus gestures glumly down at himself; at his charcoal grey poet shirt and his vinyl-coated skinny jeans.

“So, yeah, I guess my creativity is really confused about his role and identity,” says Thomas.

Remus splutters. “I didn’t say that!”

“Then, how do you feel, Remus?” asks Dr. Faber, as though he sees people who look exactly like his patients rising through the floor every day.

He does not, to Thomas’s knowledge. Their appointments are biweekly.

“I’m really confused about my role and identity,” Remus grumbles, tucking his chin against his chest and looking down. “Bye.”

And he sinks out.

Thomas glances between the patch of carpet where Remus used to be, then at Dr. Faber. Then back to the carpet. Then back to Dr. Faber. Carpet. Dr. Faber. Carpet. Dr. Faber.

This repeats a few more times.

“Well, this is…” Logan sits on the armchair closest to Thomas. “This is unproductive.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” says Dr. Faber. “I now think that I understand Remus, as he is now, to a better degree, and Thomas has also opened up about some of his feelings. Do you agree?”

Thomas nods.

“But we’re having some trouble identifying your current emotions, yes?”

Thomas nods again.

“Well, _I’m_ not exactly going to be helpful in regards to _feelings_ ,” Logan sniffs. “However, if you are experiencing difficulty regarding things, such as emotions, that Thomas does not seem to understand about himself, or that he might be hiding from, I do know the Side who will be the most beneficial to have out this session.”

“Is it Ethan?” asks Thomas.

Logan waves his arm in a short, stiff gesture.

Ethan rises through the carpet, fast enough that his hat almost falls off, and he has to catch it before stumbling backwards onto the sofa, next to Thomas.

“Yes,” Logan states.

Ethan adjusts his hat, glancing at Thomas for just enough time that he knows that it’s himself who is making Ethan smile so genuinely.

“So,” he says. “What appears to be the problem?”

* * *

Hope bounces up and down in the Mindscape as Thomas sets up his camera and lighting. He closes the blinds, so that nobody can see that he’s going to be filming in the middle of the night, and so the camera doesn’t break with the stress of recording all the reflections of Sides at once in the dark glass behind where Hope stands, now.

Thomas takes a swig of coffee, which Logan’s not going to be too happy about – also, it’s still too hot, if the second-hand burn in Hope’s mouth is right – and checks his hair in the camera. As always, he looks good. Great. Adorable. _Sexy_.

Look, Hope’s not really sure what adjective Thomas is, but he’s _definitely_ a positive one. All those words have different connotations, and every person has a different perspective on the world, so, basically, all of Hope’s adjectives are correct. He’s a genius.

Then, Thomas is exclaiming to the camera, _“What is up, everybody!”_ and the answer to that is Hope. Hope is up.

“Hi!” he beams, cutting off Thomas in the middle of his final syllable with vigorous waving that borders on jazz hands. At least, he thinks so. His eyesight sort of goes dark, for a moment, and his head feels kind of like a snowglobe that’s just been shaken.

Thomas does not scream. He definitely doesn’t! He just extends a phonetic that sounds a bit like a scream, being a long _‘e’_ sound, and he does so at a louder volume, while appearing to be slightly afraid.

“It’s me!” grins Hope, as Thomas’s not-scream fades to silence. “It’s me, Hope!”

Thomas nods, returning the smile. “I know that! I was just… Excited! I was just excited, and you definitely didn’t scare me.”

“If I did, I’d be really sorry,” Hope tells him.

“I know you would, Hope,” replies Thomas.

Hope starts bouncing up and down again. “It’s just, we’re making a video! And we’ll probably actually upload this one!”

A thought strikes him. His bouncing intensifies.

“Your viewers are gonna see my new outfit!” He pulls his raglan shirt out from his chest, so the design is taut and flattened.

He’s proud of it! It’s white, with that lovely shade of blue, light and bright like the sky, on the sleeves and on his brand new logo! And his logo is so freaking cool, too! Everyone had really complicated ones, like, with plaid print, or a lot of detail, but Hope doesn’t need to be complicated. He just needs a big, blue star, with little white highlights to make it look all cute and squishy.

He was going to use a heart shape, but that felt cruel.

So, yeah! Just a big little rounded star! Like faraway dreams and glow-in-the-dark wall decorations.

“Your outfit is very nice,” Thomas smiles, but he doesn’t seem…

“You don’t seem very…” Hope hesitates. Dang it! He was supposed to have figured out how Thomas seems by now!

Thomas prompts, “Very?”

“I have no clue, and I’m kind of embarrassed about it,” says Hope, folding his arms and sticking out his top lip, so that he’s not sticking his bottom lip out like an angry baby.

“And that’s my problem,” says Thomas.

He doesn’t seem very disappointed, or, at least, not disappointed with Hope.

“I’ve been feeling these feelings for a while, and I just can’t figure out what they are,” he explains. “I’ve been irritable, recently, so I’ve not been talking to my friends as much.”

“Well, that doesn’t seem right.” Hope can kind of feel his face form into triangles, like, his eyebrows going up in slopes in the middle of his forehead, and his mouth falling open, and they all feel pretty triangle-y in shape. “Won’t talking to your friends help you?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why won’t you talk to them?” asks Hope.

Thomas makes a little gesture, like a shrug, but with his hands. Kind of like very, very sleepy jazz hands. _Zzz hands_! “Because of my irritability. I feel so angry, all the time, like Harry Potter in the fifth book.”

Hope, personally, has not read the Harry Potter series. Thomas, however, has, and he has done so several times between the ages of eleven and twenty-three, so Hope has a pretty good idea of how the Harry Potter series goes.

“That’s pretty angry, huh.”

“And I feel like, if I try to hang out with any of them, they’ll do something normal – something I don’t even _realise_ is bothering me – and I’ll flip out,” Thomas finishes. “And then everything will go wrong.”

“This is complicated stuff,” says Hope.

“Uh huh.”

“And I’m not really good at complicated stuff,” he continues.

“I disagree, but I understand where you’re coming from.”

“I need help,” Hope concludes. Then, he calls out, “Logan! Ethan! Virgil, too, probably!”

The three of them rise up; Logan in his space next to the stairs, Virgil in his place _in_ the stairs, and Ethan in the space in front of the TV that used to be Roman’s and is now probably Remus’s. They’re all very graceful. Hope’s pretty sure that _they_ don’t get the whole heady-rushy thing.

“What is it?” asks Ethan.”

“And why am I only _‘probably’_?” Virgil adds.

“Because I love you, and I don’t want to cause you undue stress,” says Hope, quickly. “Hey, Thomas! Tell them all what you told me about avoiding your friends!”

Thomas does, though not without quickly glancing at Hope with a little pout.

Hope takes Thomas’s monologue-explanation time to watch the other Sides. Ethan’s pretty difficult to read, since he’s basically the best actor, and sort of just goes through life with that smile that Hope’s decided is more _patient_ than _condescending_.

Logan’s a lot easier to understand, because he just raises an eyebrow and looks like he wants to interrupt. He doesn’t, though. Well done, Logan, for not being impatient and for waiting his turn to speak! Logan’s just really cool like that.

Virgil is scowling. Hope has discovered, in the months since his formation, that this is his default expression when dealing with a stressed Thomas, and it means that he is very hard at work dealing with a stressed Thomas.

“Is it impending doom?” Virgil asks, when Thomas is done with his exposition.

Thomas blinks. “What?”

“Your unidentified feeling.” Virgil repeats, “Is it impending doom?”

“I don’t think so?”

Virgil shrugs. “Yeah, that’s all I’ve got.”

“Don’t go!”

The main reason that Virgil doesn’t sink out is because Hope grabs hold of him. At least, it _could_ be described like that? Hope grabs metaphysical hold of the metaphysical being that is Virgil. It is several steps away from actually, literally grabbing him. It’s kind of an air-grab.

Actually, it might be because Virgil is really nice and loves Hope and will always listen to what he wants.

It’s probably the air-grab.

“Why not?” asks Virgil. “That’s literally all I know. Like, I have nothing conducive to offer.”

“You’re our best problem identifier,” Hope insists, ignoring the way that Virgil stiffens a little. “We have a problem, and it’s that we can’t identify something. Please help?”

Virgil groans, but doesn’t try to sink out again.

“Was this not the topic of your therapy session this morning?” Logan asks.

“Well, _yeah_ , but we didn’t really get too far into it,” replies Thomas.

Ethan nods a couple of times, subtly and slowly. “Most of the discussion turned to Roman’s recent passing.”

“Is that not the source of this unidentified feeling?” Logan adjusts his glasses.

“I guess so?” Thomas says. “Thing is, knowing that Roman’s gone, and that I won’t be able to hang out with him again, that’s all stuff I’ve identified. I’m sad, because I miss him.”

“Problem solved; can we go to bed now?”

Thomas shakes his head, so Hope can only see his scrunched-up swivelling face half the time. “That’s not the feeling that I haven’t identified, though. Like, yes, I’m sad, but there’s something else in the mix, and it’s confusing me, and I’m kind of scared.”

“You’re scared of having confusing feelings.”

Virgil does not ask it like a question, so nobody answers. Well, Hope nods. He thinks Logan does, too.

“Literally _all feelings_ are confusing!” Virgil exclaims, and, yep, that’s frustration! Wow, Hope’s getting pretty good at identifying negative emotions. “Like, just deal with it!”

Logan claps twice. “Virgil!”

Miraculously, Virgil falls silent, and looks over at Logan. His cheeks are turning very slightly pink.

“Virgil, I believe that Thomas feels as though he would benefit from being able to put words to how he is feeling,” he explains. “The lack of an ability to identify emotions is known as _alexithymia_. It is often found in executive dysfunctional disorders, and disorders that affect emotional regulation. Often, this is treated in children recently diagnosed with conditions such as ADD, or ASD – Attention Deficit Disorder or Autism Spectrum Disorder – and rarely anyone else. This is because the treatment consists of pictures of faces with various expressions, and the emotion that they are supposed to depict labelled beneath each image.”

“That doesn’t sound like it would help, like, at all,” says Thomas.

“It does seem pretty condescending,” Virgil adds.

Hope tilts his head. “I think I have one of those on my wall.”

Virgil shakes his head. “No, that’s your picture of all of Thomas’s friends as a Guess Who board.”

With a catlike smirk, Hope wiggles on the spot. “I don’t know, Virge. I think I’m feeling a little bit Adri today. Dri.”

Logan begins to continue. Hope, however, is wiggling. Wiggling is a fantastic form of expression, and Hope is feeling the beat.

“ _A little bit of Dahlia in my life_ ,” he half-sings, half-murmurs. “ _A little bit of Valerie by my side_.”

“What’s he doing?” asks Logan, a little bit sharply.

Hope doesn’t mind. He’s in the _groove_.

“ _A little bit of Terrence is all I need; a little bit of Talyn is what I see_!”

“Yeah, that’s Mambo Number Five,” says Virgil. “That’s barely related.”

“ _A little bit of Camden_ -”

Thomas interrupts this time. “Okay! Hope, you’re adorable, but it’s really late, and I need to understand what’s going on in my head.”

Hope stops.

He doesn’t collapse to the floor like a corpse, or dissipate like a break in the fog. He’s pretty good at staying awake, now, and that’s something to be proud of! Only, you know, the dismissal kind of feels like he’s been punched very rapidly in his heart.

Logan is listing the definitions of various sad emotions, and Thomas is considering each one of them. Logan’s really smart. He probably knows everything.

But of all of his definitions, none of them seem to be resonating with Thomas. He’s not angry; they’ve all gathered that already, but he’s also not melancholic – well, he is, but that’s not the unidentified emotion – and he’s not apprehensive about this new stage in his life.

“He’s actually _not_?” It’s not a question, really, but Virgil says it like he’s asking for confirmation. “Like, I’m feeling negative worry about the future. Probably. It might just be the normal amount of my whole _me_ -ness, but after all the excess anxiety stuff, it just feels like nothing.”

“May I try?”

Ethan tells little fables and folktales, and he reads out extracts of poems. Each of them have a meaning, and Thomas listens to each of them intently. After each, he asks a few questions; gets a few answers.

Hope just wants the happy conclusion to arrive already.

And, it does, kind of. Thomas’s voice falters; his breath hitches. He clenches his jaw, but he pretends to have been unaffected.

“Is that how you’re feeling?” asks Ethan, ever so gently. “Thomas, did that subject resonate within you, on a level you can’t fully describe?”

“You knew.” It’s not an answer, but it is a response.

“I guessed,” Ethan replies, which is as much of a confirmation as Thomas is going to get, and as much of a truth that Hope will understand.

“Before he-” Thomas stumbles over his words. He has to swallow. Hope has to swallow, too. “Before Roman died, he visited me in my dream. We looked back over who he was, and who he became.”

“Roman changed a lot before he died,” Virgil adds.

“While, physically – or metaphysically, as the case may be – Roman was the same,” says Logan, “he became a very different person, even before he and his brother temporarily shared a mind.”

“I wanted to die, before. Like, I honestly wanted to be dead,” Thomas says. “I tried again, the day after Roman did, and I couldn’t bring myself to go through with it. I want to live too much.”

“Relief is a common reaction to death, especially in response to a death as a result of a long, terminal illness, or to the death of someone harmful to you,” murmurs Ethan. “In some ways, Roman was both.”

Hope shouldn’t speak. He doesn’t want to speak. If he talks, he’ll say the thing that he shouldn’t say, because it’s awful, and it’s honest.

“I’m glad he’s dead.”

He looks up. The others seem to have heard his voice, but not his words, if those gentle stares are anything to go by.

Before Thomas can ask him to repeat himself, or send him away, Hope sinks out.


End file.
